


Fear Of Uncertainty

by el3anorrigby



Series: Kiss From A Rose [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Illya, M/M, Protective Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya was livid. He could not believe it when Gaby told him Napoleon was off on another lone mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a continuation from my earlier fic 'Kiss From A Rose'.

Illya was livid. He could not believe it when Gaby told him Napoleon was off on another lone mission.

“When will he be back, did Waverly tell you?”

Illya’s voice was almost a growl. He was trying to control his spiralling temper. It wasn’t right for him to channel his frustration towards Gaby, he was trying to control it, but for the moment it was definitely becoming a struggle.

Gaby knew without even looking at him that Illya was waiting for her reply. She could feel his intense stare, as if boring his eyes at her could bring him answers to his questions. She hated that she could not help him and she hated it even more that Waverly were hiding things from them. But what else could she do? She was just the unfortunate messenger and there was really nothing else she could tell Illya. 

She finally looked up from her paperwork when Illya called out her name, repeating the same question again for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. She had expected Illya to react this way but the trembling hands and the clinching of his fists was not a good sign and she knew she had to do something quick. 

“Illya, I really don’t know when he’ll be back. All Waverly said was he’d be gone for an unspecified period of time. Those were his exact words.”

Illya looked unconvinced. 

Realising convincing Illya would take a little extra effort, Gaby stood up from her chair and walked round her desk towards him. Her eyes were sympathetic. She put a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sure Solo would show up soon and he’ll contact you once he’s able to.”

If Gaby was trying to reassure him, Illya felt she was merely wasting her time because it certainly wasn’t working. In fact, it was making things worse. 

“This is becoming a practice I don’t like,” Illya argued, making his thoughts known.

“What do you mean?”

“The last time Solo was sent on a mission, it’s without us. Then we went for one mission together without him because he needed to recuperate. When we come back, he’s gone off again, alone. It’s like a vicious cycle. I don’t like this.”

Gaby understood what’s bothering Illya now. He feared Waverly was trying to separate them but she doubted that was the case.

“Illya, Waverly has always said we worked so well together. I don’t think he’s trying to break us apart, if that’s what you’re worried of.”

But Illya was certainly worried and he could not help himself. They had returned from Berlin and he had been eager to get reacquainted with Napoleon. Their last meeting together had left certain things hanging on the balance between them, the balance between logic and emotion, between what’s right and wrong. Their dynamics had changed, Illya was certain, and he had no qualms Napoleon felt the same as well. He had hoped for that good chat Napoleon had promised him once he returned from Berlin but when he’d arrived at Napoleon’s apartment, he’d found it empty with nothing left behind to tell Illya of his whereabouts. It had been five days since and finding out today that he might have to wait an indefinite period of time before he could see him again was driving Illya a little over the edge. He was a trained KGB agent no doubt, he’d been taught well to handle any kind of situation thrown at him, to act on precise orders and commands but somehow that was all before he’d met Napoleon, the smug and cocky American who had somehow warmed his way into his life, maybe even into his heart. He couldn’t just sit and wait. He simply had to act. 

“I’m going to ask Waverly. I cannot wait this long.”

Hearing that, Gaby’s eyes went wide but before she could say or do anything, Illya was already off, his long strides taking him straight to Waverly’s office.

 

***

 

Waverly would like to consider himself as the kind of man who would not be easily perturbed by unnecessary intimidation. But when Illya barged into his office with a rather dismayed looking Gaby in tow, he understood handling a very angry Illya Kuryakin was a totally different matter altogether. 

“Mr. Kuryakin?” he asked, his manner still calm, the smile on his lips still there despite the angry Russian looming before him. “Is something the matter?”

“I need to know where is Solo and I want to know why you keep sending him on lone missions.”

Illya was being as direct as he could, there was no beating around the bush and although Waverly didn’t quite favour his mannerism at the moment, he certainly admired Illya’s boldness. He then eyed Gaby who was standing beside Illya with an apologetic look on her face. 

“This conduct is not becoming of an UNCLE agent, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly said. “You do know who you’re dealing with right now?”

Before Illya could even reply, Gaby was already standing by his side, explaining and apologising on Illya’s behalf. 

“Sir, please, forgive agent Kuryakin…he’s just stressed. We’ve just got back last night and I really want to apologise for this unnecessary ruckus.” 

Gaby was really hoping they’d caught Waverly in one of his good moods, but he was usually in a good mood unless something tragically wrong had happened and the look on his face told Gaby that perhaps Illya was going to get off rather lightly. There was actually a small smile on his face. But she was still nervous for the Russian beside her. One glance at him and Gaby knew he was not going to back down from his demands either, not just yet.

“I’m sorry, Sir. But I really need to know about agent Solo,” Illya said, his voice demanding yet controlled at the same time. His hands however were still clenched in fists. Gaby knew what normally comes after that and what Waverly said next calmed her to an extent. 

“Alright, please have a seat, both of you.”

They both did as they were being told and waited for Waverly’s explanation. 

The pragmatic man leaned forward against his desk and laced his fingers together as he studied his two agents in front of him. Both of them, together with Napoleon, had proven to be invaluable assets and he would do anything in his power to keep them in the organisation. And he would also go through great lengths to ensure their safety. That was where Napoleon’s whereabouts, which was a matter of great concern to Illya, came into the picture.

“You do know that I can ask you to leave right now without having to tell you anything,” he began. Both Illya and Gaby nodded in unison. “And you do know that I don’t really have to answer to your demands, Kuryakin.”

Illya ignored the churning in his insides. Waverly was testing his patience but he would get nothing if he didn’t dance to his superior’s tune. He merely nodded at his remark. Gaby was biting her lip in anticipation.

“Alright, what I’m about to tell you both is strictly confidential. I didn’t want to tell you at first but what with Mr.Kuryakin’s stubborn but very admirable persistence, it really gives me no choice but to explain to you on Mr. Solo’s supposed mission.”

Illya’s heart was thudding in his chest. He didn’t like when Waverly mentioned ‘Mr. Solo’s supposed mission’. It only confirmed his suspicion that something was not entirely right but he needed to know the truth. In the end he braced himself for what Waverly had to tell them. It was an agonising wait before Waverly finally took out a file from his desk drawer and flipped it open before them.

“The man’s name here is Patrick Walters, a former CIA agent,” Waverly started to explain as he pointed to a picture in the file. 

“He’d blamed Napoleon for the death of his wife in a mission gone wrong a few years back. Apparently his wife was also CIA. Napoleon was immediately cleared of any wrong doing but that incident led the CIA to investigate Patrick further and they found out both he and his wife had been involved in mishandling secret government information which I’m not at liberty to explain further. Due to that he was imprisoned by the military but a week back, CIA intel had informed me he’d somehow escaped and warned that he might be on the hunt for Solo. Which led to my decision in putting him in the safe house until Walters is apprehended. Now, Mr. Solo had wanted me to inform you both but in his best interest I had decided it was better for it to remain under wraps. That is before you had barged in today of course, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Gaby was stunned to silence. She turned to look at Illya and if she hadn’t known him better, she’d say there was evident fear in his eyes. She grabbed at his trembling hand underneath the desk, the one that was hidden from Waverly’s view. She gripped it tight and felt Illya returning the grip. 

“What can we do to help?”

Illya was the first to speak after Waverly’s explanation but their superior only shook his head.

“Don’t worry about this, Kuryakin. It’s all under control.”

Illya however was far from convinced. He opened his mouth to protest but Waverly quickly cut him off.

“I’ve told you what you wanted to know and now you both must promise me to keep your noses out of this. We shall handle this professionally. Promise me that and I promise I will keep you updated on this.” 

Illya felt helpless but he couldn’t argue with Waverly. This wasn’t the best solution for him but for now it would have to do.

 

***

 

“Illya, would you calm down. You’re giving me a headache with your pacing around the room.”

It’s been an hour after they’d left Waverly’s office and Illya was still pacing around Gaby’s room like a caged animal. 

“I get that you’re frustrated but there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Gaby was right. Of course she was right. There was nothing they could do but wait. But the uncertainty of waiting, the fear of not knowing was driving Illya crazy. And for the first time since he’d known Napoleon, Illya was actually scared he might not see the crazy American again. 

“But he’s a target. That bastard is out there to get him. A killer no less.”

“Illya he’s in a safe house. He’ll be fine,” Gaby reasoned although Illya’s worry was rubbing off on her. But she couldn’t let herself be sucked into Illya’s paranoia, she needed to be the rational one in this. She had to. 

“Illya, please, you are over reacting. Solo’s just in hiding. He’ll be alright.”

Gaby’s talking again. Always the voice of reason. But he didn’t want that now, he wanted to know that Napoleon’s safe. 

“Do you know location of UNCLE’s safe house?” 

Illya’s question was met with a stern glare from Gaby. It was getting a bit out of hand. “Of course I do but Waverly didn’t specifically say which house he’s in and besides we are not to interfere in this. Didn’t you hear what he said? You do not want to endanger Solo’s safety now, do you? Or are you simply suffering from short term memory loss?”

Illya let out a loud strangled groan and then for a split second Gaby thought he was going to flip her desk out of sheer anger. 

“Illya! Get a grip!” she shouted but she didn't manage to finish what she’d wanted to say because Illya had already stormed off leaving Gaby alone, screaming to herself in frustration. 

 

***

 

Every night since his confrontation with Waverly, Illya would lie down on his bed and go through every single detail he had told him about Patrick Walters. He shuddered thinking that the man was still out there and it frustrated him to no end that he could not do anything to help Napoleon. And he was counting the days since he’d last seen him. It’d been eight days now and thinking of him again, like he did every night, made his insides twist and his heart ache. He closed his eyes and recalled their last meeting together, the night Napoleon had shown up on his doorstep with that look on his face, so endearing Illya had it imprinted in his memory.

“We really need to talk about this when you get back,” Napoleon had said. 

They had kissed that night. He wasn't really sure who’d initiated it but then one thing led to another and all he could think about then was the memory of Napoleon’s mouth, his touch, his body hot and heavy underneath his and when they’d moved in unison with their fingers laced together, it was too much. The thought made Illya groan into the pillow in frustration. 

 

***

 

“Hello, Illya? Are you asleep?”

It was Gaby calling, checking on him again. She did this every night too, ever since their little argument in her office and Illya could only smile to himself. What he would do without her, Illya would never know. 

“If I’m asleep how can I be talking to you right now?” He could sense Gaby rolling her eyes at his smart comment. 

“There’s still no update on Solo,” she said, her voice sad and resigned. Illya nodded as if she could see him but Gaby didn’t need to ask any further because it was the same, just like every night. It was like they were going through the motions. “I hope we’ll have better luck tomorrow.” 

It had been nine days now and Illya didn’t want to the number to grow into double digits. 

 

***

 

The phone rang as usual the next night and Illya picked it up, knowing perfectly well it was Gaby on the other line. 

“Gaby, before you ask me, no, I am not asleep yet.”

“And I’m really glad you’re not, Peril.”

Illya’s eyes widen in an instant, his heart dropping to the floor. He couldn’t quite believe his ears. 

“Cowboy?” he choked, almost falling off the bed. 

“Illya, listen. I’ve only got a few minutes, can’t stay on the line for too long. I’m breaking the rules as it is by calling you.”

“Please tell me where you are.” It sounded almost like a beg from Illya. But then the line was breaking and he couldn’t hear Napoleon very well. 

“Illya?” he heard Napoleon say before the line suddenly went dead. Illya almost threw the phone to the wall in frustration. He forced himself to stay calm. Napoleon was going to call again. He had got to. The wait seemed like hours before the call finally came in again.

“Cowboy?” he exclaimed, relieved when he could hear Napoleon’s voice at the other end. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. Had to redial.”

“Where are you?” He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. His fingers gripping the receiver was shaking so badly, he had to still them with his other hand. “Solo? Are you alright?”

“I’m alright.”

“Where are you?” he asked him again even though he knew Napoleon couldn’t disclose his location.

“Illya, you know I can’t tell you.”

He hadn’t expected any other answer than that. 

There was a moment of silence when neither men knew what to say next. For the first time since they’d known each other, words were actually lost on them. Napoleon was to break the silence first. 

“Illya, I’m guessing Waverly’s told you about my little predicament?”

Illya let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. And you know I want to help.”

“No, it’s better for you and Gaby to stay there. I don’t want you to get involved.”

Napoleon’s voice sounded closed off, almost sad even and hearing that, Illya’s grip on the receiver tightens, his knuckles white. 

“Solo…”

“Illya, I don’t have much time. Look, I just wanted to say.” 

Then Napoleon paused. 

“What?” 

Illya’s heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear Napoleon’s rather anxious breathing at the other end. 

“Cowboy, what?”

“I never thought I’d miss you this much.”

Illya groaned inwardly, his head buried in the pillows now. If Waverly could see him now, _this_ was certainly conduct unbecoming of an agent. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to even out his shuddery breath. 

“Solo, you are not helping me on this,” he managed to whisper after a while, his voice hoarse. 

“I’m sorry, Peril. I just needed to say it.”

“When is this going to be over?” Illya wanted to scream. His chest was in actual pain at the moment. 

“Soon, I hope?”

Illya was going to try his luck again. “Tell me where you are. Please?”

“I can’t, Illya.”

Illya couldn’t remember when he’d felt as helpless as this before and the rage in him, in which he’d successfully kept under wraps suddenly rose. He stood up and started pacing the room, dragging the phone along, almost tripping a couple of times on the wires. 

“I cannot believe you are there, in that safe house alone. I should be there with you,” he argued. Then Napoleon said something which changed the tone of their entire conversation. 

“Alone? But I’m not alone. There’s another UNCLE agent with me.”

Illya immediately frowned to that. 

“What do you mean? Another agent? Waverly didn’t tell me this. What’s his name? Or is it a she?”

A smile crept up Napoleon’s face and then a slight laugh and Illya could feel the vibration of sound rippled like he was just next to him and god, how he’d missed hearing it so much. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of his voice instead of getting annoyed at the thought of someone else being there with Napoleon instead of him.

“Who’s the agent?” Illya asked again. But the irate tone in his voice betrayed him and Napoleon took it as his cue to ruffle Illya’s feathers. 

“It’s a he. Name is Adam James, he’s a Brit. Blonde, about my height. Pretty fella.”

Illya growled. He didn’t like that last bit of information. “What are you doing, Cowboy?”

“Nothing, I’m just explaining to you how my counterpart looks like. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Illya could picture the smirk on Napoleon’s face. He wanted to strangle him. If that Patrick Walters didn’t then he’d do the job himself. But Napoleon cut him off before he could argue further.

“Illya, I’ve got to go.” There was a slight pause before he continued again. “I don’t know whether I’ll get to call you again. Just pray this wraps up soon for me?”

Illya was still annoyed but he was almost sorry to let the conversation end. 

“Napoleon?” Illya muttered. There were only a handful occasions when Illya had called Napoleon by his first name and normally it was when he needed his utmost attention. He closed his eyes as he heard Napoleon’s voice one last time.

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

He heard him say ‘I will’ before the line finally went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

When Napoleon made his way back to the safe house, a secluded two storey cabin surrounded by woods overlooking a small lake, Agent James was already waiting for him. As he approached the cabin, he could make out the agent’s silhouette as he stood out by the corridor. He looked a tad unhappy that Napoleon had slipped out of the house without his knowledge. 

“Where did you go?” 

“Out,” Napoleon said, his reply curt. 

“You called your partner, didn’t you? You know you weren’t supposed to make contact,” he commented. His words were just as blunt as Napoleon’s.

Napoleon could only grin at James’ snarky remark. He might have mentioned Illya once. But he never expected James to figure out what he would do. Perhaps he was better than Napoleon gave him credit for. 

“The line was secure,” Napoleon replied. James however wasn’t impressed with his answer.

“Still, when you go out there alone, you put yourself at risk.”

“You’re a pessimist, Agent James,” Napoleon replied in a dismissive tone. "In this job, we're always at risk."

He walked past James and made his way into the living room. He knew he’d broken protocol when he had contacted Illya. He understood the risks but he had been willing to take it. And he didn’t need the other agent reminding him so. 

“Waverly won’t be happy about this.”

“Relax, he doesn’t have to know,” Napoleon retorted.

He had poured himself a glass of scotch and was now lounging back against the sofa in the living room. He took a sip of his drink and then shook his head at James. It was rather dark in the house, the lights dimmed to the maximum but he could still make out James’ scowl. The agent assigned to protect him was clearly playing by the book. He wasn’t happy at Napoleon’s behaviour directly disobeying their superior’s orders. Obviously Agent James still had a lot to learn about his style and how he worked. 

“So, James,” Napoleon began, trying to change the subject. “How long have you been with UNCLE?”

They’d been there for a span of four days and not once had he asked James about his days in UNCLE. Perhaps it’s time for small talk, anything to get the agent off his back. James, a trained agent for the MI6, also on loan to UNCLE, definitely wasn’t a rookie and he certainly was not naive. He could tell what Napoleon was up to. But he went along with it just to ensure the American agent did not slip right under his nose again. 

 

***

 

When the motion sensor lights on the corridor flicked on, catching the attention of both agents, Napoleon sensed something wasn’t right. They immediately drew their weapons and Napoleon gestured for James to run over to the window by the front door, himself taking the one towards the back. They had been chatting and Napoleon cursed himself for letting his guard down. He heard movement from around the back and then held his breath. If it was indeed Walters, how the hell did he track his location? Had he been careless enough, not spotting the danger when he was on his way back from his call with Illya? The answers to his questions could wait however because he had to deal with the more important matter at hand.

Napoleon’s heart was racing. He strained his ears for any movements, breathing silently, his fingers ready at the trigger. 

“Solo?” James called him in a hushed whisper. “Anything back there?”

“Nothing,” he replied. If Walters was indeed outside, Napoleon was sure he’d seen him. Perhaps it was a false alarm. They waited for a few more minutes and still nothing. And then when he’d thought it was safe, he finally saw him, a shadow moving just outside the window with a gun in his hand. Napoleon immediately crouched down and gave a hand signal to James, asking him to move up to the second level. Understanding what Napoleon had in mind, James nodded and moved swiftly as instructed. Napoleon, on the other hand, as quietly as he could, straightened himself up with his back against the wooden wall. He intended to throw a quick peek at the window, to check on Walters’ position but it wouldn’t matter because precisely at that moment, Walters took a shot straight at Napoleon.

 

***

The sound of the slug was unmistakable and had James scurrying down the stairs. A few milliseconds later, the sound of glass breaking and another shot was fired and by the time James had arrived at the scene, he found Walters slumped on top of the American agent. He drew his weapon down and at once hauled Walters’ body off of Napoleon. There was a gaping bullet wound on his chest, blood spouting from it. He checked his pulse and found nothing. Then he quickly knelt down by Napoleon’s side to check on him, his torso and face covered in blood. James wasn’t even sure whether it was his or Walters’ to begin with.

“Solo?” he started, panic taking over.

He put his fingers on Napoleon’s neck and when he could feel a pulse, he breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Napoleon let out a small moan.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, right?” he croaked. James did a quick assessment of Napoleon’s injury and found the cause, a bullet wound just below his right collar bone. Despite being in obvious pain, Napoleon had a small smile plastered on his lips but his face was pale and his eyes were beginning to droop and James knew he had very little time to lose.

 

***

 

Illya could not sleep. He kept thinking about Napoleon and the conversation they’d had a few hours back. He hadn’t expected Napoleon to make contact, he understood the risk he had taken to break his silence but the selfish part of Illya was actually glad he had because god damn, he’d missed him that much. He didn’t get to admit it, even if Napoleon had. Their conversation had been too brief, too rushed. He was hoping the whole ordeal would end soon, he wasn’t sure he could stand the agony any longer. But the nervous rush he was feeling, the painful knots in his gut wouldn’t subside and it had built up to a crescendo ever since Napoleon had hung up. What’s worse was his hands were starting to shake. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones. 

He was about to call Gaby, he needed to tell her about Napoleon and the bad feeling he was having when the phone suddenly rang, the shrill ringing sound breaking the silence of the night, making him jump. 

“Hello?”

“Illya?”

Did Gaby read his mind? Illya knew the lady had many talents but this was getting ridiculous. He glanced at his watch. It was 3:30 in the morning. Gaby would never call him at this hour, not unless something’s wrong.

“Gaby, what’s wrong?” 

“Illya,” Gaby began, and then a pause. “Illya, something’s happened.”

He could sense the fear in her voice.

“Gaby?

“Illya, it’s Solo. He’s…he’s been shot.”

Illya’s heart all but stopped. He felt his face paled, the news making him nauseous. And then the sick feeling quickly turned to something familiar, liquid anger burning in his gut, coursing through his veins. He was imagining Napoleon, lying somewhere hurting, probably bleeding to death. His senses reeled. 

“Illya??”

Gaby’s voice pulled him from those awful thoughts. “Illya, please. Whatever it is, whatever you’re feeling right now, you’ve got to push that aside. We’ve got to go to St. Bart’s. They’re taking Napoleon there. I’ll meet you there in ten.”

Illya’s afraid. He was so afraid he would be too late by then. 

***

 

When Illya and Gaby arrived at the hospital later, Waverly and a few UNCLE agents were already there, engaged in a serious conversation. A man Illya assumed was the agent assigned to Napoleon, with his shirt and hands bloodied, were also talking to Waverly. It sickens him to know all that blood on him was Napoleon’s.

“Kuryakin.”

Illya turned around at once at the sound of his name. It was Waverly.

“Walters had found Agent Solo first, unfortunately. We’re still trying to ascertain how he’d managed to locate Solo despite him being in that safe house.”

Illya’s breathing was becoming erratic. He didn’t want to hear all this, he just wanted to see Napoleon. 

“I believe Agent Solo broke protocol to call you last night?” Waverly continued. Illya suddenly felt like throwing up. He felt all eyes on him. 

“Yes,” he answered, his voice shaking. Gaby gave out a small gasp. 

Waverly nodded at them. He didn’t look angry but concerned was clearly etched on his face.

“We believe Solo contacting you somehow managed to lure Walters out of hiding. Now I’m not sure whether Solo did that with the intention to bait him, but somehow it did manage to bring an end to this rather messy episode.”

Illya wasn’t really listening to Waverly. His heart was thudding in his ears. All he cared about at that moment was Napoleon’s condition.

“How’s…how is Solo?” he managed to ask, trying his best to keep his emotions in check. “His condition?”

“As we speak, he’s in surgery right at this very moment.”

“I need to see him,” Illya had said to the nurses later after Waverly had left them but of course he couldn’t, no matter how hard he argued and in the end all he could do was wait in the private waiting room, with his head in his hands, his heart threatening to break in pieces. If it wasn’t for Gaby, Illya would probably had a breakdown, probably had turned the entire place upside down. She comforted him as best as she could, told him she was afraid for Napoleon as well and even if it gave him little comfort, Illya was glad he had Gaby by his side.

 

***

They must have sat in the waiting room for hours. Napoleon’s finally out of surgery and his condition was stable, thank goodness, but they’d been told he wasn’t allowed any visitors, not just yet. Waverly had asked them to go home to get some rest but Illya had insisted to stay on. So now, there they were sitting on the hospital bench side by side, Gaby with a cup of coffee in her hand and Illya next to her, looking utterly tired. He’d hardly slept for days.

“He’s going to be fine,” Gaby said slowly. Her fingers brushed Illya’s hair that had flopped messily over his forehead. He looked a right mess. 

“I should have been there. Not someone else. Not an agent who couldn’t do his job properly,” Illya muttered. He was of course referring to Agent James. 

“But he did save Solo,” Gaby replied with a shrug of her shoulders. Illya gave Gaby a scowl. 

“He let him get shot, that’s what he did!”

“Yes , perhaps. But he also drove Solo to the hospital, bloodied and all. And I also heard he actually carried Solo onto the gurney and wheeled him into the emergency room. Did that all by himself. The hospital was short staffed.”

Illya's glare at Gaby were like daggers now. He wondered whether she was doing it on purpose, trying to spite him with James’ heroic rescue of Napoleon. A smirk on her lips proved Illya right.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a bit funny,” Gaby chuckled. But then her laughter died on her lips when the devil himself suddenly appeared out of nowhere, standing right before them. Obviously Agent James hadn’t had a change of clothes because there was still blood on his shirt, Napoleon’s blood, and Illya’s temper boiled at the sight. Had he waited all night? What was he still doing there? He should be gone by now.

“Agent Teller? Agent Kuryakin? I’m Agent James. I was assigned to handle Napoleon in this case.”

Handle Napoleon? That sentence somehow did not sound right to Illya. And since when was he on a first name basis with Napoleon? Illya kept his eyes straight ahead, avoiding looking at the blonde man standing before him, his jaw tensed. He had a right mind to punch that face but Gaby’s tight grip on his hand stopped him. 

“Thank you, Agent James. I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced before. If it weren’t for you, I don’t really know what would have happened to Agent Solo,” Gaby offered her sincere thanks. She had to be the diplomatic one. Thankfully Illya chose to remain quiet. 

“I’m just glad everything’s alright now and that the case is closed.”

If they weren’t in a hospital full of patients, with doctors scurrying about and Gaby practically gripping his hand like vice, Agent James probably would have ended up in one of those uncomfortable hospital beds. Oh yes, Illya would have ensured it. 

“I’m glad Napoleon’s injury wasn’t as serious as I’d first thought,” James continued.

“He almost died of a gunshot wound,” Illya said, breaking his silence, not being able to hold it in any longer. “I hope this fact was not lost on you.”

“Agent Kuryakin,” James replied, ignoring Illya’s angry tone. For someone who hardly knew Illya, he was actually not intimidated at all by the angry Russian. Gaby couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’m sorry, Illya is pretty stressed at the moment,” Gaby cut in, holding him back from lunging forward towards James. James on the other hand merely smiled as he cooly acknowledged Illya’s angry stare. 

“Napoleon mentioned your name a couple of times when he was slipping in and out of consciousness. I assured him though, that he’d see you soon enough. You lads must be pretty close?”

“Closer than you’ll ever know,” Illya huffed silently to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours after his surgery, after they’d been finally allowed to see him, Napoleon still had not regained consciousness. The nurse in charge of Napoleon had advised Illya and Gaby to go home much to Illya’s chagrin.

“There’s not much you can do. Go home. Get some rest and come here early tomorrow morning. Hopefully your friend would be awake by then. Let him rest,” the burly nurse had said and Illya had heeded her advise despite his obvious reluctance. And just as he’d promised himself, he’d arrived at the hospital as early as he could that morning, only to find James, the blonde British agent, had beat him to it. He couldn’t hide his utter annoyance at seeing him sitting by Napoleon’s bedside. He suddenly wished Gaby was there with him, but she had to return to UNCLE to complete their overdue paperwork, leaving Illya the task of handling James alone.

“Good morning, Agent Kuryakin.” 

James stood up when he saw Illya enter the room. He greeted him with a chirpy smile and Illya felt like wiping that smug look off his face. 

“Good morning,” Illya replied dryly. “You are here incredibly early.”

The agent must surely know his presence was not welcomed. Either that or he was completely thick, Illya figured. And Illya opted for the latter because now James was talking much to Illya’s irritation.

“Well, yes. I wanted to find out how Napoleon’s progressing. I feel kind of responsible for his condition. You reminded me well yesterday, Agent Kuryakin. The fact that I let him get shot was not lost on me.”

Illya was bristling under his calm exterior. No one should be responsible for Napoleon but him. He bit his tongue to keep quiet, holding back angry words that were threatening to spill out. 

“He’s still asleep,” James added on like an afterthought. “I guess they’d sedated him pretty heavily.”

Illya didn’t say anything but only focused his attention on Napoleon instead. If he let the green eyed monster in him take over, James probably would be scurrying out of the room by now. 

He took a step closer towards Napoleon’s still form. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, wanted to hold his hand, wanted to bring his fingers to his lips, wanted to kiss it and make it known to Napoleon that he was there waiting for him but James’ presence in the room was a hindering annoyance. He wished they were left alone but he couldn’t let his feelings become too obvious, fearing it would raise unnecessary suspicion from the other agent in the room.

“You know, I really envy you.” 

Illya was not in the mood for friendly conversations but that sentence definitely caught his attention. 

“What do you mean you envy me?”

“I envy you because you get to work with Napoleon.”

Illya looked at James as if he had grown an extra head out of his body. 

“And why is that so?” he asked, with eyes narrowed and arms across his chest. The Brit was clearly testing his patience. 

“Oh I don’t know, I guess simply based from what I’ve heard about him? His reputation? A thief so good at what he does, the CIA simply had to recruit him instead of sending him to prison once they’d caught him. That clearly say something about the man. You know, I was actually happy when Waverly assigned me to his case. Gave me a chance to see how he is, up close and personal.”

Illya scoffed. 

“Why, agent? You don’t agree to what I have to say about Napoleon?” James asked in a confused manner. 

“Reputation precedes nothing. And you cannot heap praise on a man you don’t know well enough,” Illya stated like a warning. If anyone were to praise Napoleon at all, it should be him. Not some agent who had spent a mere few days with him. 

“Yes, of course. I know that’s true but you would definitely know what I’m talking about since you actually work with the man. I mean, how is he really like? Is he as brilliant and as charming as people say he is?”

If Illya didn’t know any better, it sounded like Agent James was having a schoolboy crush on Napoleon and he could not believe the questions that were coming out of his mouth. Oh James had crossed the line now, he had crossed so far over the line that he looked like an actual dot to Illya's eyes. In truth his questions were innocent and simple enough to answer but Illya was not going to share Napoleon’s qualities with anyone, especially not with James who seemed cocky enough to think he had the right to ask anything under the sun about Napoleon. 

“I don’t think I should indulge my partner’s qualities with someone I hardly know.”

Illya’s obvious possessiveness was beginning to show and James was quick to realise he might have scratched a surface he wasn’t supposed to. The corner of his mouth wanted to curl up into a smile. Obviously Napoleon’s Russian partner was not as easy going as Napoleon and it made him more curious than ever. 

“Okay, I suppose you’re right, Agent Kuryakin. You shouldn’t share things too openly with people you hardly know,” he started again, still trying to test Illya’s patience. “But I’ll tell you something I’d learned about Napoleon after spending four days with him in that cabin.”

Illya’s hands, in fists now, were trembling. “And what is that?”

His voice was low and dangerous, the classic tell tale signs of what was about to come. James should be worrying for his life now. 

“He’s a bit on the stubborn side. I had a hard time making him listen to instructions. That night, when he went off breaking protocol to call you without my knowledge? That was the last straw. I mean, he was really being a pain in the arse…”

“Well he’s _my_ pain in the arse!” Illya suddenly shouted, cutting James off, startling both the agent and himself with his outburst. 

For a moment, neither men said anything. The silence, save for the subtle beeping of the heart monitor, was the only thing that could be heard after that. James cleared his throat and took his seat again and Illya did the same with the other chair next to Napoleon’s bed, grabbed at the newspaper available at his disposal and hid his face behind it. He grimaced slightly at his behaviour, worried James was going to ask more questions, questions he should not be asking but thankfully for Illya, he remained quiet for the rest of the morning. 

 

***

 

After approximately three days, Napoleon finally woke up much to Illya’s relief. He was discharged a few days later and was advised by the doctors to recuperate from active duty for at least eight weeks. His injury, a gun shot wound and a near fatal blood loss required him to have ample rest. Waverly had sanctioned his leave, telling him to take as much time as he needed to recover but after only a week, Napoleon was already restless. 

“Can you believe it? Two whole months of rest with no vigorous activities? What the hell am I gonna do, Peril? I’m growing insane as it is!”

Illya was sitting by Napoleon’s bedside in his room with a newspaper in hand. He’d been reading that damn paper all morning, practically ignoring Napoleon, the one who was needing his attention the most. It irked Napoleon that he was losing Illya’s attention to a product basically made from wood. 

“Illya, are you listening to me?”

“Hmm, yes,” Illya replied but his face was still hidden behind the newspaper, turning the pages as if he was reading something of world importance. Napoleon doubted that was the case. He was doing it just to spite him although he wasn’t quite certain as to why. He’d been acting rather strange for a while now and Napoleon was not sure whether he had done something to offend him. 

“I wish Gaby was here. I miss Gaby. At least she talks to me.”

Still nothing. Napoleon twitched his nose. He needed to try a different approach.

“So, Adam visited me last night.”

“Adam?” 

Illya’s face was still behind the newspaper. 

“Oh I forgot, I meant Agent James. I call him Adam.”

“Mm hmm, I see,” came Illya’s reply. If he had meant for it to sound casual, then Illya had failed tremendously because Napoleon could detect the stiffness in his voice at once. The corner of his lips immediately quirked into a little grin. He had hit the jackpot.

“Did you know he stayed on all night and we had a really good chat. He was still being hard on himself saying it was his fault, that he didn’t do enough to protect me but I told him not to worry about it. I mean, technically he did save my life by bringing me to the hospital, staunching my wounds. Carrying me to the emergency room.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And he said that he’d love to have an opportunity to work with me again if Waverly would give him a chance, you know for any future missions that might require his assistance.”

Illya was quiet. The newspaper in his hands had gone still for a while now.

“He’s nice.”

Hearing that, Illya finally put the newspaper down and placed it on the side table by Napoleon’s bed. He didn’t care to fold it properly. There was a frown on his face, too adorable for Napoleon to ignore.

“What do you mean by he’s nice?”

Napoleon shrugged. “I’m just saying he’s a nice chap.”

The frown was turning into an outright glare now. “You call him Adam and he calls you Napoleon. How interesting. I thought nobody calls you Napoleon but your mother.”

“You call me Napoleon.”

“Not all the time,” Illya replied gruffly. 

“Are you jealous?” Napoleon continued to tease.

“Really, really jealous,” the Russian growled and that made Napoleon grin. He wanted to laugh but his wound hurts too much if he were to jostle around or made too much movement. He must have winced though because Illya was suddenly looking very concerned. 

“Are you alright?” 

Napoleon only nodded. Illya then quickly climbed onto the bed and sat next to the injured man. He tugged at Napoleon’s hands and gripped it in his. “I’m sorry, Cowboy. That I wasn’t there for you that night.”

The mood had suddenly changed, from playfulness to downright serious. But they needed to be serious because there was something Napoleon needed to address Illya. He had been wanting to finish that talk with him and now, he hoped, he would finally be able to do so.

“You know none of this is your fault,” Napoleon began. Illya remained quiet. His eyes though were fixed on Napoleon’s. He then waited for what Napoleon had to say next.

“Peril, if I hadn’t called you that night, Walters probably wouldn’t have found me. I’d let my guard down and he’d found me exactly where he’d wanted me. And then I’d got myself shot. But if I hadn’t then I’d probably still be stuck in that safe house with James instead of being here with you. Now which of those options would you prefer, Agent Kuryakin?”

Hearing that made Illya sigh and he gripped Napoleon’s hands even harder. “I think I would prefer you safe, Cowboy.”

Napoleon knew how close he’d come to not seeing Illya again, to not being able to say things that he needed the Russian to know. Nothing was guaranteed in life, not even the promise of living tomorrow and he feared if he didn’t tell Illya what he was feeling now, he might not get another chance again. 

“Remember that little chat we were supposed to have?” Napoleon continued.

“Yes. I remember,” Illya replied.

Napoleon then paused for a moment. He needed to do it right but he wasn’t sure how to phrase his words. After a while, he took in a deep breath and turned his body, fully facing Illya, ensuring he had his complete attention.

“Illya, that night we had, before you left for Berlin. It had meant something to me. It was not some night of meaningless sex.”

Illya didn’t say a word but simply stared at Napoleon in wonderment. The American was going to be the death of him, Illya was sure of it. How he could tear him apart simply by his words, Napoleon would never know. 

But when Illya continued to remain quiet, Napoleon started to worry. Perhaps that night had been just that to Illya, some meaningless sex with his partner. Perhaps Napoleon had read the signs wrong. But then he figured he should give Illya the benefit of the doubt. He tried again, this time putting more conviction to his words. 

“Look, I know you know that my moral reputation is not something to be proud of, so to speak, and that I-I may not be the best person in the world. I’m a thief. I cheat, I gamble, I steal. And I may not even deserve _you_ , Illya, but what I’m trying to say is we should give each other a chance.”

Illya’s heart was bursting at the seams. When he’d heard Napoleon’s confession, the knots in his stomach tightened. Illya couldn’t deny it any longer. Napoleon was like a drug to his system and his addiction was so powerful, it needed to be fed constantly. But he couldn’t find the right words to say anything, to respond to the person who was looking at him with hopeful eyes.

“Illya?” 

There was a pleading tone to Napoleon’s voice now. Fuck he needed some kind of response and the silence from the Russian was killing him. 

“Fuck, Illya, what I’m trying to say is that what I’m feeling for you is nothing compared to what I’ve felt for anyone in my entire life before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve felt like this for anyone at all and when I thought I was going to die in that house, I thought about you and how fucked up it was for me not being able to tell you exactly that.”

There was still no reaction from Illya. Was he that dumbfounded by Napoleon’s honest confession? Napoleon’s brows started to furrow in worry at Illya’s prolonged silence. 

“Illya, you are scaring me now. Are you okay? You’re not going to punch me, right? Because I’m still injured.”

Napoleon’s defence mechanism was working now, putting in the jokes to hide his sinking heart but then, without any warning, Illya was cupping his face, pulling him close and kissing him hard on the lips. Napoleon couldn’t hold back the gasp that tore from his throat at Illya’s sudden aggression, and he let him lead, let himself drown in the kiss Illya was giving him. 

After they broke apart for much needed air, Napoleon muttered breathlessly against Illya’s lips, “I think I might have pulled a few stitches with all that kissing.”

Illya pulled back immediately with a worried look on his face. “Are you sure??”

Napoleon grinned. “Kidding.”

Illya chuckled softly and managed to give Napoleon a sympathetic smile before tightening his arms around him again. He then settled his chin on the crook of Napoleon’s neck, feathering soft kisses along his jaw, his warm breath softly tickling Napoleon’s skin. His heart fluttered thinking about Napoleon’s words, his heartfelt confession, and wondered when during the course of their partnership had he actually fallen for the American. 

But he didn’t want his train of thoughts to distract his attention from the man currently in his arms. Illya needed to show Napoleon just how much he’d longed for that moment. He let his lips governed Napoleon’s senses, kissing him on his neck, gliding his mouth along his jawline as they made their way towards the soft tender spot under his ear. Illya’s hot breath against his skin was suddenly driving Napoleon insane as he arched his neck further to give Illya access. 

“God, you drive me crazy, Cowboy,” Illya murmured as his lips turned its attention on the hollow of Napoleon’s throat. He could feel Napoleon swallow, his whispered words obviously having its effect, sparking the American’s absolute desire he’d hidden all this while. But then what Illya did next, left Napoleon dazed and confused.

Illya had entangled himself from Napoleon’s hold and pushed him slightly back against the bed’s headboard.

“Illya? What are you doing?” Napoleon asked, breathless.

There was a sly smile on his face.

“As much as I want this, you do know we can only kiss and do nothing else for about two months? No vigorous activity. No sex.”

Napoleon let out a huge groan at Illya’s damning statement.

“But why?!”

“Because of your injury. We cannot aggravate it.”

Napoleon gave him a look of mock horror. “That’s a damn shame, Peril. How can I survive that long?” 

In all honesty, Napoleon was not sure whether he really could survive it. He wondered whether Illya could but then the Russian’s self control was almost always better than his.

“Illya?!”

“You heard me, Cowboy,” Illya grinned and with that, he simply stood up leaving Napoleon hanging with his mouth wide open. Oh Illya was cruel and if he could play that game, so could Napoleon. 

“Hey, you know what, Peril? You’re a real pain in the arse.”

Illya’s eyes grew wide when he heard that and he whirled around at once. That familiar statement suddenly made Illya wonder whether Napoleon had heard his little argument with Agent James in the hospital while he’d been unconscious. And then the smug look Napoleon gave him told Illya the truth.

“You heard us??”

“I was high on painkillers, I was drugged, but oh yes, I could definitely hear you.”

Napoleon’s grin got wider and Illya’s face immediately turned beet red, cursing loudly in Russian.

“Oh but don’t worry, Peril. I’m also _your_ pain in the arse so you just have to live with it now.”

And Illya certainly would. There was no fear of uncertainty now and he was looking forward to it with every beat of his heart.


End file.
